


Feet

by woodenducks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodenducks/pseuds/woodenducks
Summary: These are the feet that Dean laces into his boots to hunt, or shoves into slippers to cross the bunker’s cold floors.





	

They’re sitting on the couch in the bunker’s library, Dean resting his feet in Cas’s lap as he scrolls through Netflix. His ankles are gently crossed, and his heels are dry as they rest against the rough grain of Cas’s jeans. Dean is trying to find the perfect conspiracy documentary, intense concentration creasing his forehead as he scrolls.

Cas looks at Dean’s feet. Ungainly, almost, and definitely indelicate. These are the feet that Dean laces into his boots to hunt, or shoves into slippers to cross the bunker’s cold floors. Cas traces his fingertips lightly up the fine bones that run up from Dean’s toes. The skin feels thin on top of his feet, and shifts easily. Dean’s toenails are roughly cut, the thin moons of white arching bluntly over the shiny pink nail. Cas taps against Dean’s right toenail with his own fingernail, and Dean’s toe twitches.

“What are you doing, man?” Dean flexes his toes, pushing Cas’s hand away slightly.

“Nothing,” he says, reaching back and laying his hand over Dean’s foot, wrapping it warmly in his hand. “Just looking.”

Dean snorts. “At my feet?”

Cas hums agreement. He runs his finger down the side of Dean’s foot, where the skin becomes shiny and turns into the rougher callous of his sole.

Dean flinches, pulling his knees up and his feet away. “No tickling, man!”

Cas holds up his hands in surrender, looking at Dean innocently until he gently lowers his feet back into Cas’s lap. “I’m watching you,” Dean says, warning.

Cas runs his finger over the tips of Dean’s toes, brushing back the fine hair that tufts from them. “I like your feet,” he says, cupping his hand around Dean’s heel, very gently running fingers up into his arch.

Dean twitches again, but leaves his feet where they are. “That’s weird, Cas.”

Cas bends down, drops a kiss to the top of Dean’s big toe. “But they are lovely, Dean. Like all of you.”

He doesn’t need to look to know that Dean is grimacing under the weight of the compliment. He ignores it. “When I remade you,” he continues, “your toes perplexed me, but struck me as so wonderfully human. Simple yet complex. Understated but so necessary.” He grasps Dean’s foot in both hands, raises it to his face to place the gentlest brush of his lips to the sole of Dean’s foot. He knows that Dean is squirming under the scrutiny now.

He draws back, rests Dean’s foot back in his lap, slowly stroking his fingers across their soft tops. “Keep looking for your show,” he says, nodding at the TV. Dean is a delightful shade of pink.

These are the feet that carry Dean to Cas every time. He doesn’t want to say out loud that he reveres Dean’s feet, but he loves them. He loves them for bringing Dean back.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my [Tumblr](http://bsc-trash.tumblr.com/).


End file.
